


amour plastique

by xzael



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autistic Will Graham, Dark Will Graham, Dialogue Heavy, M/M, Songfic, Will Finds Out, but not technically, cajun will, hannibal is stupid and gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21577312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xzael/pseuds/xzael
Summary: Hannibal succumbs to the temptation of blatantly sharing his affections for Will.As blatant as he can be while speaking another language.(AKA, an AU where Hannibal doesn't realize Will can speak French.)
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 16
Kudos: 245





	1. plastic love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! i ve been working on this fic for what feels like FOREVER. i absolutely LOVE the idea of will being cajun (anyone from the homoerotic cannibalism discord server can confirm) so Here He Is.  
> also, dumb gay hannibal is canon

**Baltimore, Maryland**

“One of my patients was murdered two nights ago.” Hannibal discloses.

“Oh?” Will sits up straighter.

“I found out in a rather distasteful manner.” 

“Tattlecrime?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Hannibal murmurs. “Freddie somehow even discovered that she was under my care.”

“Is that not a breach of confidentiality?” Will asks. Hannibal takes a sip from his wine glass before answering.

“It is. A number of my patients have seen the article and requested referrals to other psychiatrists, or have completely withdrawn from my care without comment.” Will scoffs.

“Excuse my language, Dr. Lecter, but that’s bullshit.”

“I am inclined to agree with that, crude language aside.” Hannibal sets his glass down. “I was questioned today.”

“Of course.” Will restrains himself from rolling his eyes. _Idiot cops don't even know where to look._

“It’s fitting that you mentioned doctor-patient confidentiality earlier, as they attempted to pressure me to break it.” He takes Will’s raised eyebrow as a cue to continue. “The local police department where she lived were unable to construct a profile of her murderer. I’m not sure how much the limited information I was able to divulge aided them.”

“Are you trying to tempt me?” Will teases. His head is tilted and he has what could almost be considered a smile on his face. It’s impossibly endearing yet morbid given the context.

“I am simply gauging your interest. Shall I continue?” Hannibal is pleased when Will nods. “She inherited a rather successful toy production company when her mother died.”

“Matriarchal?”

“Refreshing, isn’t it?” Will lets out a quiet laugh, then Hannibal continues. “She sought coping mechanisms for the stress she was under. I can confidently say she was improving throughout our sessions.”

“What changed?” Hannibal was pleased by Will’s insightfulness.

“She became engaged. Frankly, I was taken aback when I opened my office door to greet her and saw the ring on her finger. She had never spoken to me about any romantic relationships.” 

“All work and no play?” Will circled the rim of his whiskey glass with the tip of his finger.

“That’s what I had been previously led to believe. However, for the entire duration of that session, she didn’t speak about her stress running a business at all. Only of her fiance, Peter Hall. Not complaining or gushing. She made statements about his character.”

“She was trying to convince herself of his character, and that she didn't make a mistake by saying yes.”

“Precisely. I found it especially odd that she spoke for the entire length of the session, never ceasing long enough for me to get a single comment in.”

“This was the last time you saw her, too.” Will lightly chews the inside of his cheek. “When was that?”

“Three days ago.”

"Did you tell them it was the fiance, then?" Hannibal laughs. 

"You already know the answer to that." He replies. "Despite the theatrical quality of the murder, he is not the type to kill again."

"How was the body displayed?"

"An employee at one of the company's factories was performing standard quality checks on their products, and found blood. They ceased production and cut the offending products open. Eventually, they found all the pieces of my former patient." 

"So you were questioned not only because you provided psychiatric care to the victim, but because you used to provide surgical care." Will confirms. 

"Peter Hall is currently a practicing general surgeon at Johns Hopkins." Hannibal adds. Will furrowed his eyebrows. There wasn't much, albeit any, information for him to profile the killer. 

"But what was his motive?" 

"Money, I presume. The company was always incredibly profitable, most of which was allocated towards supporting the company's non-profit efforts. They regularly donated toys to children's hospitals." Realization sets in for Will.

"He killed a Sandford?" He fails to mask the disbelief in his tone.

"Yes. How did you-" Will sighs deeply before explaining, but something with his demeanor seems to shift as well.

"When ah was ten, my father was hospitalized for six months. Fishing accident. Gators shook his 'nd his buddy's boat 'nd he fell into the water. Obviously got pulled out, but not before the gators got to bits of 'im." Hannibal understands the importance of Will sharing this with him. He rarely speaks of his childhood. Whenever he does, his Louisiana drawl bleeds back into his voice. Hannibal finds himself strangely enamored by it, though he wouldn't admit it. "Ah was home alone for the first month of it. Then someone broke in. Stole the TV. From then on, when ah wasn't at school, ah was at the hospital." Will has an indecipherable look on his face, neither bitter nor nostalgic. Perhaps it is distaste due to his accent resurfacing. 

"What role does the Sandford family play in this situation?" Hannibal asks gently. Will does not respond for several minutes. 

"The nurses pitied me. Even and _especially_ as a little kid, ah was mighty stubborn. Told 'em not to feel bad for me, but of course they didn't listen." Will picks at a loose thread in his shirt sleeve. "A month into me practically living at the hospital, a woman in a suit walked in with a girl a few years younger than me."

Hannibal sucked a breath in.

"Maeve." 

"She was holding a stuffed animal. A beagle. 'We don't want you to feel alone, William,' Her mother said to me as she handed the toy over." 

"You remember their surname." Hannibal notes.

"It was on the tag. Named the dog Sandford. Didn't realize till ah was older that it was the brand." 

"What toys were her body parts placed in?" Will asks with gaze fixed on the ground and whiskey glass in hand, his accent fading out.

"A range of plush animals. However, her heart was found in a ‘princess jewelry box.’" Hannibal informs. " _Amour plastique_."

"Any reason for the French outburst, Doctor?" Will is looking at him now. Not the space between his eyebrows or his forehead, his eyes.

"The Sandfords were French. Creole, I believe."

"That explains my vague memories of Maeve speaking to me in French."

"You two became friends?"

"We were acquainted. Her and her mother visited the hospital several times during my stay to meet other children." Hannibal is baffled by Will's openness tonight, and knows not to take it for granted. "The memories I have of her were so distant that I doubt I'd be able to recall them without this conversation."

" _Parlez tu_ _français, Will?_ " Hannibal holds his breath, hoping for an answer in the positive.

" _Non."_ Will smirks, a faint glint in his eyes. "My high school had a program aimed at preserving Cajun French. I took it for the required two years, then forgot all of it once I left Louisiana." 

" _C'est dommage_. Ever considered taking it up again?" Hannibal tries to restrain himself from being too obvious in his desires. 

"I tried, actually. Enrolled in classes at NOVA. I got through three lectures never saying a word until we had our first oral test." Will's jaw is clenched. "The professor barely let me get a sentence out before he told me to leave. He told me my accent was _classless_."

"Francophones can be very elitist." Hannibal says.

"Very." Will doesn't seem to be interested in conversation anymore. Hannibal doesn't blame him. It must have taken a lot out of the closed-off man to share so much about his youth.

**Wolf Trap, Virginia**

When Will returns to his home that night, he uses his pocket knife to open up a nearly forgotten, taped-up box. He pulls out Sandford, the plush beagle from his childhood. It's far from mint condition, but it's evident that it was well-loved and cared for. He hugs it tightly for a short moment before setting it back in the box, the black Sharpie of _pour Abigail_ standing out against the brown cardboard.

" _Je suis tellement désolé, ma douce fille."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am AWFUL at ever finishing my multichapter fics so i am taking what feels like a giant risk posting this without having all my chapters written...  
> please leave kudos and especially comments to let me know what you thought of this chapter / this fic s concept in general! i have two other chapters written out, but i ve been pretty stuck on the others. feel free to comment suggestions or speculation about what s coming next in this fic!


	2. in my mind, everything goes wild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it s been a month! the whole chapter was already written out but i was having trouble with completing one scene. thank you to winter from the homoerotic cannibalism discord server, Winter_Elwood on ao3 for helping me out on it!

**Mechanicsville, Virginia**

“Make yourselves comfortable.” Roman- _Don’t call me Mr. O’Hara, makes me feel ancient-_ waves his arm in the general direction of a worn-down couch. Will crinkles his nose at the thought of what fluids left the questionable stains on it. He opts to hover near the entrance of the house while Jack very hesitantly sits down, a bold decision with the intent of making Roman more amenable to the less than ideal situation. “This about my kid, yeah?” He sits down in a recliner opposite the couch, its pleather almost completely peeled off the foam. 

“Yes. I’m sure you’ve heard about the series of murders in Richmond.” Jack clarifies, eyes briefly flitting to the beer cans on the coffee table.

“Nope.” Roman reaches forward to grab one and finishes it off. “Don’t watch the news or nothing.” 

“I see.” Jack turns around to look at Will, who is pointedly looking everywhere but at him. He turns back around and shifts his attention back to Roman. Will stops paying attention to the conversation and opts to look around the house instead. 

_A quick glance around the house revealed_ plenty _. It was clear that there was only one person living in the house, and his presence was almost suffocating. The room reeked of overbearing aggression, clearly from the man sitting comfortably on his foul couch. This was not the sort of house where children grew up happy._

_Despite his missing son, Roman O'Hara seemed unconcerned, an almost smug air sat around him, an emotion that he wore like an old coat._

_Any rational parent would have been concerned about their child going missing, yet Roman was blatantly indifferent. To Jack, it must have seemed like the man was the typical abusive alcoholic, the smell of alcohol heavy in the air. To Will, it was evident that there was more than meets the eye as soon as he and Jack pulled up to the driveway._

_Barking from somewhere on Roman’s property shook Will out of the state he had fallen in. No bed, no bowls, no toys, not even clumps of fur scattered across the ragged furniture. This dog was unwanted, the pitch of its barks indicating it was an adult. The dog must have belonged to the son, a stray picked up as a coping method. He found out soon after that he couldn’t protect it from his father. It was Roman O'Hara's reaction to the barking that set off Will. His aggression wasn't rooted in solely annoyance or sadism. It was from the need to keep something secret, something the dog had found._

“Sorry about that. Er, can you repeat what you just said?” Roman is clearly irritated, but Jack is persistent. 

“When was it that you last heard from your son, Mr. O’Hara?” He asks. Roman shamelessly bursts into laughter, not bothering to correct him. 

“Must be five or so years now, Agent Crawford.” He downs the rest of his beer. Will’s liver is sorry for his. “Don’t think I can be of any help.” 

“I see. Regardless, thank you for your time and cooperation.” Jack clenches his jaw. “Well, make sure to give the local PD a call if anything comes up. Special Agent Graham and I will be on our way n-”

“Where’s the dog?” Will interrupts, his gaze fixed a foot above the top of Roman's head.

“Will-” Jack is itching to leave.

“Outside.” Roman deadpans. 

“That’s enough.” Jack is standing by the door. “I apologize, Mr. O’Hara. We’ll be on our way now." Roman glares at Jack as he heads outside. 

" _Je le tuerais si je pouvais._ " Will hears the man spit out just as he turns his back on him. Since that night with Hannibal, he had been brushing up on his French. There was no mistaking what he heard. " _Chien stupide_ ." _I'd kill it if I could. Stupid dog._

" _S'il te plaît soyez patient." Please be patient_ , Will affirms quietly as soon as he's out the door. " _Je retournera pour toi." I will come back for you._

**Wolf Trap, Virginia**

Will is getting into Jack’s car, then suddenly he’s shutting the door of his own car, back at Wolf Trap, dried blood on his hands and a Saint Bernard at his feet.

It’s funny. In the darkest way possible, of course.

He heads to the porch, the dog obediently following behind. He looks to the Saint Bernard.

“Sit.” Surprisingly, he listens. “Huh.” Will unlocks and opens the front door very slowly, taking care to not let any of the dogs inside rush out.

“Hey y'all. Guess I've, uh, brought someone new. Play nice, ‘kay?” He fills up two bowls, one with food and the other with water, then brings them out onto the porch. 

Will sits on the porch, petting the rather large dog, then suddenly he’s processing the sound of a car door closing. 

Hannibal is walking away from his Bentley and towards him. 

“Did I call you?” Will is getting increasingly disoriented.

“Yes. You told me it was urgent.” Hannibal joins him and the dog on the floor. _Something is_ definitely _wrong._ “You’re dissociating, Will. Losing time.”

“Did I say that out loud?” The doctor nods. “Ah, shit.”

“It’s quite alright. I _am_ a psychiatrist, and as you know, I was a surgeon prior to that. I can assure you that I’ve seen and dealt with worse than a loss of filter.” Hannibal turns to face Will, who chooses not to reciprocate. He’s not offended. “I see you’ve acquired a new stray.” Will gnaws at dry skin on his lip.

“I don’t remember.”

“What do you know?”

“Jack and I were questioning a suspect’s father, and his dog kept barking. He ignored it at first, then excused himself to deal with it.” Will breathes in deeply. “I could hear scolding and yelping, then the barking stopped. He came back and Jack continued questioning him.”

“You drove home after?”

“No, I came with Jack from the academy. He drove me back, then I guess I drove home. But I don’t know if that was before or after-” Will gestures to the Saint Bernard, who tilts his head curiously. “-I got this one. I don’t know how I did, honestly. I never saw the dog. I asked him where he was kept and that was it.”

“Whose blood is that?” Hannibal maintains his gaze on Will, who is starting to resemble a kicked puppy. “Yours or the previous owner’s?”

“Thought I washed all of it off.” Will mumbles. “Think it’s his.”

“I don’t think I killed him.” Will shares a few minutes later, unprompted. He looks over at Hannibal, who’s petting the dog. “I don’t think there was enough blood for that.” 

“You work for the FBI. You know how to keep it clean.” Hannibal scratches behind the Saint Bernard’s ears, who is loving the attention.

“Why aren’t you more concerned?”

“Why aren’t you?” Hannibal counters, fixing his gaze on Will. Neither of them break eye contact. “ _Dans mon esprit tout divague._ ”

“What?” Will is taken aback and doesn’t trust his ears. Since when was Hannibal so metaphorical with his French?

“ _Folie à deux_.” Hannibal replies. “A madness shared by two.”

“Something tells me, Dr. Lecter, you just done an awful lot of paraphrasing dere.” He turns his head to look forward at the ground, cheeks surely reddening due to his accent resurfacing.

“You’re Cajun.” Hannibal states.

 _“Ouais._ ” A touch of Will’s Southern roots is present, further affirming his response. “But dat’s not what we talkin ‘bout right now.”

“You understand the intricacies of murder, Will. All its different shades and tints.” Hannibal looks to the dog, then back at Will. “The man is an animal abuser. You either harmed him or killed him. Either way, I am confident the scales of justice favor you over him.” Will simply shakes his head.

“You really are an odd one, _cher._ ” Hannibal ignores the chill that goes down his spine and refuses to entertain any thoughts about it. 

“I suppose if you’re keeping the dog, he needs a name.” Will thinks for a minute before he decides. 

“Cujo.” Hannibal looks at him, an amused smile on his face. Will grins, and he begins laughing, Hannibal joining soon after.

"Hannibal?"

"Yes, Will?"

"Can you cook for me?"

"Of course."

Will wipes his chin with a towel and groans. Hannibal knocks on the bathroom door. " _Will?"_

"Fuck." Will tosses the cloth into his laundry bin and washes his face, pulling up the edge of his shirt to dry it. "I just vomited."

"I am aware. You need fluids." 

"I want food." 

" _Will."_

"Fine." Will unlocks the door to see Hannibal holding a glass of water. "You knew I was going to throw up?"

"No. But I considered it a possibility." Hannibal ushers him back to the kitchen and sets the glass down on the counter next to a bowl of what he assumes to be soup. Will sits on a stool and Hannibal stands opposite him. "Along with loss of consciousness or another dissociative episode."

“Glad I have you here to mama bear me, then.” He murmurs into his glass as he takes a drink. “What’s the soup?”

“Simmered duck and vegetables served in broth with handmade pasta.” Hannibal has the beginnings of a smile on his face.

“You made me pretentious chicken noodle soup?” Will can’t help but smile either. 

“It’s _duck._ ”

“I had duck?”

“Yes. I put it there last time I visited.”

“You snuck food _into_ my freezer?”

“I knew you would inevitably fall ill and be incapable of properly caring for yourself.” Hannibal joins Will’s side of the counter and sits on the stool next to him. “However, I was anticipating a physical illness.” Will shakes his head in disbelief. He vaguely wonders if Hannibal had stashed an IV drip somewhere in his house.

“I think this goes beyond your psychiatric duties, Doctor.”

“As I told you previously, I am your friend, Will. _Je me soucie de toi._ ” _I care about you._ Will’s mouth feels bone dry all of a sudden.

“All I understood of that was ‘I’ and ‘you.’” He manages to say after drinking more water and staring intently at his countertop. 

“Eat your soup.”

“ _Oui._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! hopefully the next update will come sooner than this one did. please leave feedback in the comments below. i ve made it one of my two new years resolutions to leave a comment on every fic i leave kudos on, i recommend you do the same! it s basically just putting your thoughts about the fic into words.
> 
> p.s. this is only heavily implied but roman killed his son and fed him to cujo. when will came back to take cujo, cujo had killed and eaten roman. will cleaned cujo up and himself, somewhat, but hannibal s got crazy olfactory senses


End file.
